


More Today than Yesterday

by MechBull



Series: Follower Appreciation & Tumblr Meme Ficlets [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechBull/pseuds/MechBull
Summary: Tumblr prompt: exes meeting again after not speaking for years au





	1. Chapter 1

Jemma watched Fitz, unnoticed by him as he was too busy cuing up the first episode of their marathon. Perhaps they could have found some other way to celebrate the end of term – it being their last opportunity and all – but a sci-fi marathon and snacks were tradition by that point. Jemma couldn’t think of any way she’d rather spend that night.

Well, maybe one. But her pesky little crush was pointless. Fitz had never seen her that way. And she didn’t _really_ want him to be her boyfriend. Not now, anyway. Not when they would be graduating the next day and then going their separate ways, her to the Hub and him to the Sandbox.

Jemma had hoped that they’d end up together, wherever they were assigned. In the last two years since they’d been partnered up in Chem lab, they’d more than proven how exceptionally they worked as a team. But it wasn’t to be. They never could get a really good explanation for why S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups thought it better – or perhaps even necessary – to split them up. Jemma was somewhat ashamed to admit that she’d cried the day their orders came in, and Fitz ranted for about an hour that they should appeal, or maybe even quit, go and start their own lab somewhere. 

But eventually, they agreed that they had invested so much into S.H.I.E.L.D. already, and they still wanted to work for them, be a part of the cause. And besides, it wasn’t like they’d never see each other again. There were all sorts of options – telephone calls and messaging when they couldn’t meet in person, cheap flights and long weekends when they could. They agreed to text each other during every episode of their favorite shows, and travel back and forth as often as possible between Sheffield and Glasgow every Christmas. 

They’d survive, Jemma knew. Their friendship was too strong to be ruined by distance. In fact, the only thing she was sure could possibly wreck it was…doing what she’d wanted to for months now and kissing him senseless. 

Just friends, just friends, just friends. Jemma reminded herself. And with that mantra repeating in her head, she took the bag of popcorn that had just finished popping out of the microwave, and walked back over to her bed. She climbed onto the mattress and took her usual spot next to him. It wasn’t her fault the bed wasn’t wide enough to sit comfortably without touching each other, after all. It wasn’t her fault the computer screen was so small, they had to sit on the same piece of furniture. Jemma nestled into her usual spot, humming contentedly as he wrapped his arm around her so she could rest her head in the groove of his armpit. Their legs intertwined, angled off to one side so their feet wouldn’t block the screen. And Jemma held the bag of popcorn in her lap, tilting it towards him so he could reach inside easier. They had TV marathon nights down to a science.

Jemma noticed – sometime around the third episode, when the empty popcorn bag had been tossed on the floor for later disposal and they had moved the laptop onto the desk chair at the foot of the bed so they could stretch out more – that her eyes were beginning to droop. She yawned.

“Tired?” Fitz murmured in her ear.

Jemma nodded.

“Want me to go?”

Jemma shook her head. 

“’Kay,” Fitz readily agreed, and neither one said anything else. 

The next time Jemma opened her eyes again, she could tell it was very late. Her computer had gone into sleep mode, leaving the glow of her alarm clock as the only light in the room. She had curled around Fitz more, her arm draped over his stomach, leg bent at the knee and resting on top of his lap. She could – she could feel his half-hard penis jutting against her thigh. Jemma stared down at it, uncertain how to proceed. 

Something between a snore and a sigh blew the hair off her forehead, and Jemma raised her head to look up at Fitz. It wasn’t often she had the opportunity to admire him and she intended to take full advantage of it. For one thing, she was always a bit in awe of his long eyelashes, not to mention the curve of his jaw, especially at times like this when his stubble had started to grow in. Jemma splayed her fingers to feel more of his chest, taking a moment to trail her eyes over his body before returning to his face, where she catalogued each feature in turn – until she had the unexpected surprise of his eyes staring back at her. At first, she thought his expression was curiosity, or perhaps confusion, but she knew that wasn’t quite right. It was only when he rolled closer to her, when his erection – fully hard now – wedged in between her legs and nudged her crotch that she realized the expression had been dwindling control. A white-hot spark of arousal flooded through her, and she gasped, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Jemma?” Fitz whispered.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she confessed, equally soft. 

He bent his head down, resting his forehead against hers. She nearly went cross-eyed from trying to keep eye contact. 

“You won’t,” he promised.

“But tomorrow – ”

“They can send us to different labs, but they can’t – we’re more than that.”

Jemma knew they were talking around the main issue though, acting like the transfer to different labs was the only reason to be afraid for their futures. That they were both afraid that they really were more than that, and they had wasted two years they could have spent together. That they would cross a line they shouldn’t tonight, and it would ruin everything.

She tilted her head up until their mouths were almost touching, until their breath mingled. And then she tilted her hips too, producing some more friction between them and eliciting a small moan from Fitz. At the sound, she knew there was no turning back. They were going to do this, no matter what happened in the morning. She closed the distance between them, sighing in relief when their lips touched and he immediately deepened the kiss. 

The passion between them escalated rapidly, a combination of teenage hormones, long-denied desires, and anxiety over their anticipated separation. Jemma’s gasps filled the room every time Fitz released her mouth, and soon, he had rolled them over more so she was on her back. He stayed on his knees, shifting around and nudging one of her legs aside to create a V for him to fit into perfectly. She moaned when he finally lowered, feeling for the first time his full weight, the firmness of his erection as it rubbed along the seam of her pajama pants. She full-on whimpered when he increased the force of his movements, rocking his hips and thrusting against her. 

“Fitz,” she managed to say, as she ran her hands over his back and savored the feel of his lips and tongue tracing a path down her neck. “Fitz, have you done this before?”

He pulled away, and even in the practically non-existent light, she could see the dazed lust in his eyes. “Made out with someone?”

Jemma giggled. “Had sex with someone?”

“Is – is that what we’re gonna do?” he asked, sounding nervous yet hopeful.

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

“No!” 

Jemma’s heart felt like it was being crushed with disappointment for a moment, until Fitz shook his head rapidly. “I mean, I hope so too. But no, I haven’t – I’m a – never.”

“Me neither,” Jemma confessed, smiling in happiness. “I want it to be you.”

Fitz didn’t respond verbally, instead dropping down to kiss her again. Soon, she felt his fingers at the buttons of her pajama top, fumbling until he opened them to reveal her breasts. Earlier in the night, when she had removed her bra when she was changing, despite having always left it on before, she had felt a little…

But now she was glad she had. She wondered if she had been subliminally planning this all along. She giggled at Fitz’s gobsmacked expression as he stared down at her revealed skin. And she wondered how inexperienced he was, if just the sight of breasts could halt him so completely. A small part of her wondered if it was just because they were _her_ breasts. At any rate, while she certainly didn’t have much to compare him to, she had no complaints so far. Except for maybe the fact that he still wasn’t moving.

“You can touch them, if you want to.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, his hand shot to her left breast and then…stayed there. She looked down, amused, and then glanced up at his wide eyes. She suppressed a chuckle with great effort.

“Like this,” she murmured, lifting her own hand to cover his, demonstrating the pressure with which he should cup and fondle, the light brushes of his thumb he should use to stimulate her nipple. “Not too hard.”

Fitz nodded, not removing his gaze from where his hand worked. He soon got the hang of it quite well, and then surprised Jemma by dropping down and drawing her other breast into his mouth.

“Oh!” she called out, arching her back in pleasure, the roughness of his tongue against her nipple sending jolts of arousal tingling throughout her. 

Wanting, needing more, she dropped her hands to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling up. He paused just long enough to strip it off before returning to his actions. Jemma, meanwhile, moved to her pajama bottoms, twisting and turning to lift her hips and push the material down. Fitz didn’t even seem to notice, his single-minded focus on showering her breasts with attention. Jemma closed her eyes at the sensation of the stubble she had noticed earlier scratching her areola, and she wondered giddily what that would feel like below, on the insides of her thighs and even more sensitive areas. 

But Fitz finally noticed what she was doing, when she moved her hands to _his_ pajama bottoms, forcing them down with one quick push. He made a muffled noise of surprise, and then gasped, releasing the suction around her skin and revealing it to the cool air of the room, when his bare skin came into contact with her wet heat. He lifted his eyes to hers, and they stared at each other for a long beat. And then a look of panicked horror came over his face.

“Jemma,” he choked out. “I don’t have anything.”

It took her a long moment before she realized what he was saying, and then realized that she didn’t either. She wanted to cry in frustration. In the fear that if they stopped now, even to run to the campus convenience store, they wouldn’t ever have the courage or the opportunity to start again. 

“We’ll do it without,” she finally declared.

“Jemma.”

“No, no. I know but…Fitz, we’re both virgins so we probably don’t have any – and it’s not the right time, I don’t think, and – ”

“ _Jemma_.”

“Fitz. _Please_.”

He looked at her again, hesitant desire clear in his expression. 

“Please. I want this, no matter the consequences. Don’t you?”

His gaze roamed across her face, and then he answered by way of another kiss. Heart soaring, and refusing to think about how very stupid they were being, Jemma wrapped her arms around him to deepen it, and started rocking her hips to meet his, thrilling at the way his penis slipped and slid along her opening and moaning with each particularly good connection with her clitoris. Fitz soon returned to kissing and sucking along her throat and clavicle, one hand massaging her breast while the other dropped lower to squeeze at her thigh, lift her leg to hook around his hip and open her up to a new, delightful angle, before sliding farther around to cup her bottom.

He pulled her up even as he ground down in tight circles, provoking Jemma to practically hyperventilate, an uncontrollable, high-pitched sound torn from her throat with each pass of his erection over her sensitive mound. 

“Fitz? Fitz!” she finally managed.

“Wha…” he breathed out, head bent as he watched the movements of their lower bodies. 

“Will you go down on me?” she blurted before she could convince herself not to.

At that, his head whipped up and he stared at her, eyes wide. 

“Yeah?”

Jemma nodded urgently, trying not to grin at the excitement in his voice. “Yeah.”

“Yeah!”

She couldn’t help but giggle as he scooted back with much more gusto than she would have predicted. And then he paused. 

“Just…tell me if I’m doing something wrong, all right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jemma replied rather absently, far too focused on pushing on his shoulders until he got the message.

The faint pressure she was applying turned into nail scratches when he made contact. She groaned loudly, her head tilting back as her mouth opened. “Oh God,” she called out in a guttural, deep voice that barely sounded like her. 

The stubble she was so curious about before rubbed against her, heightening her awareness of where he was and what exactly he was doing to her. Jemma’s hips were rolling involuntarily, unable to passively receive Fitz’s attention, and she moved her hands to the side of his face, holding him in place against her but allowing him flexibility to experiment different pressures and angles and – Jemma nearly shrieked. 

“There! _There!_ ”

Fitz obeyed without question, hooking one arm over her thigh in an attempt to hold her or perhaps brace himself as he worked his mouth, swiped his tongue faster, laboring for breath through his nose and not stopping no matter how much she writhed. Jemma knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she’d lost all control, that she needed to relax her grip on Fitz’s head or widen her legs again from where they pressed against his ears or stop rocking her hips up to his mouth or at the very least try to stifle her screams.

But she couldn’t, not until the waves of pleasure from her release finally rolled to a stop and she sunk boneless against the mattress, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my God,” she added one more time.

Moments later, she felt Fitz stretch out alongside her, his hand smoothing across her stomach to hook around her hip. Jemma forced her eyes open and then immediately rolled them at the expression he gave her.

“Smug.” 

“Can you blame me?” he asked impishly before leaning closer to kiss her.

Jemma recoiled, nose wrinkling at the taste of herself, but she quickly grew used to it, or at least grew not to mind it too much, preferring instead to revel in Fitz, and his mouth, and the way he kissed. She didn’t know who else he had been kissing, the jealousy lurking inside her didn’t want to know, but she kind of wanted to send bouquets of flowers to anyone who had played a role in refining his method. She moaned into his mouth as he deepened their kiss, slipping his tongue in. And then she snickered at his lack of subtlety when he grabbed hold of one of her hands and brought it down to palm his erection. 

“Shush,” he mock-scolded. “Don’t laugh at my – ”

“That’s not what I’m laughing at,” she promised, not even opening her eyes and barely backing away from their kiss. “Trust me.”

He started to respond, only to break off with a bit-off curse as she began to stroke him. It was a familiar action, sort of, from the few times she had done something like this with Milton and a couple other guys their first year at the Academy. Before she realized that Fitz was the only remotely interesting person there and so dating was a waste of her time, and long before she realized, or at least admitted, her crush on him. It was still strange enough, however, not only because it had been so long or because it was Fitz, but because it was the first time she had ever done it without a layer of fabric between her hand and the skin of her partner. The movement was getting easier, helped along by the leaking fluid that had started to lubricate her grip. Fitz’s hand covered hers again, adjusting her angle and her speed.

“This OK?” she whispered against his lips.

“Perfect, just – oh God, Jemma,” he replied, shuddering slightly when she wiggled her thumb just below the head. “Can we – are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jemma confirmed, not trusting her voice to anything more complicated.

That approval was enough for Fitz, though, and he moved to kneel between her legs again and hover over her. He paused for a long moment, and Jemma peered up at him, nervous. 

“You sure?” he asked softly. 

Jemma held eye contact and nodded, no doubt in her mind. “Yes.”

Fitz nodded, starting to lower down, propping himself on one elbow first. “Can you – um, help me with – I want to make sure I don’t – hurt you.”

Jemma smiled at his consideration, reaching one hand up to slide against his cheek. He turned into the caress, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“I think it’s gonna hurt, Fitz. But I know you don’t want to. I trust you.”

With that, Jemma reached down, fumbling slightly as she found his penis again and tried to guide it with slight presses of her fingers. She spread her knees wider, felt his tip brush against her folds and then push in.

“Right there,” she whispered. “Slow.”

Fitz held himself with an almost comical restraint, carefully and slowly slotting inside her deeper and deeper. The sensations sent a range of expressions dancing across both their faces. But soon, Jemma’s facial features were dominated by a grimace of discomfort. 

“OK?” Fitz asked.

Jemma nodded, but was unable to stop her whimper when he pushed in farther. 

“Are you in all the way yet?” she asked, voice strained.

Fitz laughed, breathless. “I’m not sure which one of us is – how deep could I go?” he managed to say. 

At that, Jemma burst into laughter, the accompanying movement relaxing her body and suddenly, rather unexpectedly allowing Fitz in fully. They both immediately stilled, breathing deeply. It took a long moment before either of them could react, and even then it was just an awed-sounding groan from Fitz. 

Jemma forced herself to breathe, turning her head to one side and lifting her hand to cover her eyes. The intensity of the feeling was overwhelming, made even more so by the knowledge that it was Fitz. 

“D’s it hurt bad?” Fitz mumbled, seemingly unaware of the little pulsing movements he was making with his hips.

Jemma inhaled again, taking a moment to assess and gather herself. “Not so bad,” she finally decided, adding softly, “Can see how it will get better.”

“What can I do?”

The tension in Fitz’s voice, the way the muscles of his arms were shaking, left only one answer. Jemma answered wordlessly, lifting her knees to plant her feet on the mattress and tilt her hips just so. He took the hint, immediately starting to move – slowly at first, but with her nods of encouragement, faster and faster.

She could barely see him, though, which was making her increasingly frustrated. The glow from her alarm clock was no longer enough. Jemma huffed a breath, then twisted, stretching out to reach the cord on her lamp. She tugged it on, immediately blinking as she faced Fitz again.

He had stopped, apparently in confusion or even embarrassment, and so he was blinking back at her from where he was propped on his elbows.

“Wanna see you,” Jemma explained. 

Fitz nodded, swallowing thickly, and then, while holding eye contact, he began to move again. Jemma exhaled a shaky breath, unsure if she was more impacted by the sensations he was drawing out, or by the intimacy of staring into his eyes as he moved inside her. 

Then Fitz heightened everything even more when he repositioned himself, resting his weight on one side and then the other. He found her hands with his own, pulling each one up to rest on the mattress over her head but leaving their hands clasped. The new position brought him lower, low enough so that his chest was rubbing along hers and his weight produced extra pressure over her clitoris with each rock of his body.

Jemma sighed, her fingers twitching where they curled around Fitz’s. She smiled up at him, struggling to keep her eyes open and feeling like her heavy breathing was overwhelmingly loud in the tiny room. She felt tension pooling in her, but somehow instinctively knew it wasn’t going to be enough to come again. Instead she luxuriated in the moment, being with Fitz in this way, having been brought to orgasm by his mouth and having him be the first man to – 

He groaned, dropping his chin and breaking eye contact with her. All she could see was his furrowed brow, and all she could feel was his uneven, desperate breaths on her neck.

“I’m gonna – I can’t – are you close?”

Jemma wanted to laugh or cry or kiss him again. “Oh, Fitz.” She consciously squeezed her walls around him just to feel him shiver. “It’s OK.”

He forced his head up again, and she nodded when they made eye contact. He seemed torn for a moment, and then Jemma started moving her hips, hoping to provoke him on. After only a few more beats, Fitz exhaled sharply. 

“I need – ”

“Yes.”

“Just a – ”

“ _Yes._ ” 

Jemma really had no idea what she was agreeing to, but she knew there was nothing Fitz could ask for that she would say no to. And when he found their rhythm again and then passed it, speeding up the pace of his thrusts and entering her with more and more force, she definitely didn’t regret it. Jemma felt her breathing getting rough again, felt that coiling tension build again, felt a need for _more_ – more pressure, more friction, something.

She struggled, yanking her hand out from Fitz’s grip and moving it to his lower back so fast she nearly slapped him. She dug her nails hard into his lumbar, goading him on, before sliding her hand even farther down, letting it come to a stop on his bum. She rolled her hand over it, squeezing and massaging, even inadvertently snaking one edge of her hand into the crease between his cheeks. He didn’t seem to mind that, judging by the moan in response. 

Suddenly, Fitz moved, hooking his free arm under her knee and pulling up and out slightly. Jemma yelped, ready to scold him, remind him she wasn’t _that_ flexible. But almost immediately, she noticed the change in the way he was entering her and the sensations it produced. The position was rougher than what they had been doing so far, and maybe not quite as romantic, but as Fitz chased towards his climax, it felt completely natural, and like they hadn’t lost any of the connection they had established earlier at all. Jemma tilted her head, gasping, searching for his mouth. Fitz met her for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. He spent the next several moments moaning against her lips in between desperate kisses. Jemma tilted her hips up, grinding against him as she tried to find some elusive relief for her over-sensitized body. And it was then that Fitz came, letting go at last and shuddering with his orgasm. 

He panted into her mouth, and his arm relaxed enough to let her leg slowly fall into a more comfortable positon. She pushed it down, sliding her foot over his calf in the process. Eventually, he raised his head and looked down at her. They made eye contact, perhaps seeking out reassurance or confirmation of what had just happened. In the end, they both just started laughing in joyful disbelief. 

“Wow,” Fitz finally said, as he carefully pulled out of her and rolled to the side.

“So that was sex,” Jemma observed between her lingering giggles. 

She turned her head to look at Fitz, and they stared at each other for a long beat, smiling rather dopily. After a while, however, Jemma began to feel – not self-conscious, exactly. More…worried. Worried that it meant so much more to her than to him. Or worse, that it _didn’t_ and instead they had discovered something important too late. That she’d have to learn to live without him as soon as she had finally found him. That maybe it would have been better to always wonder than to know _once_. Her smile started to fade, and as he had so many times before, Fitz followed her – his own expression became more somber, more guarded. 

“I need to clean up,” Jemma whispered before either one of them could say more. 

Jemma sat up quickly, turning to place her feet on the ground and bending down to pick her wrap up from where it had been knocked to the floor at some point earlier in the evening. She pulled it on, tying the sash even as she began to walk across the room, trying not to let him see how unsteady she was on her own two feet. 

“Do you – should I – ”

She had just reached the door when Fitz spoke – or attempted to, at any rate. She turned to face him, shooting him a very quick smile. “I’ll be right back. Just…wait.”

Only a minute or two later, she was standing in a shower stall, trying to clean herself off, trying to ignore the feeling of…Fitz, trying _not_ to cry. She needed to pull herself together.

Finally, finally, she felt ready. Jemma exhaled, reached out to shut off the shower, and struggled to pull her wrap over her wet skin. It clung, the color darkening where the fabric grew damp. And as she hurried down the hall back to her room, she thanked everything and everyone she could think of that most, if not all, of the women on her floor were at graduation celebrations so no one would see her. 

A sudden rush of fondness raced through her when she opened the door to her room and saw Fitz, still sprawled on her tiny bed and half-asleep. 

“Gotta clean up too,” he mumbled.

Jemma panicked, not wanting him to leave even for a moment. She felt as if as soon as he walked out her door, that they’d…

“Here, use this!” Jemma blurted, moving quickly to strip the wrap off her shoulders. 

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, and it took Jemma a moment to realize it was because she was standing naked and wet in front of him. Ignoring the awkwardness – and really, he had _just_ been up close and personal with all of her, so his reaction was a bit nonsensical – she hurried forward to sit next to him and began to wipe at his crotch with the fabric.

He tensed up immediately, and gurgled out her name in surprise and maybe a little outraged embarrassment – and then Jemma realized that maybe she shouldn’t have just pounced on him like that and he was an adult perfectly capable of – and then she realized what was happening.

“Are you getting hard again?” she whispered, intrigued and even a bit flattered. She slowed down her hand, shifting from a utilitarian rub to something more titillating. “I didn’t think it could happen that fast.”

“Well, you’re - !” he sounded far too defensive, and he gestured wildly at her state of undress. Jemma glanced up, biting her lip to stop her smile at his growing blush. “And you’re -!” he added, pointing down to where she was still stroking him. “And…I’m _eighteen_!”

“I’m not criticizing you,” Jemma pointed out with a giggle.

“ _Please_ don’t laugh.”

Immediately, Jemma laughed, then shook her head at his look of reproach. Then she ignored him, looking down at the physical responses her hand was having. At the way, despite his attitude, the muscles in his thighs were clenching and one of his hands was forming a fist in the sheets on her bed. 

“Fitz, can I suck you off?” she all but begged.

“Oh Jesus _fuck_ ,” he breathed out, falling back onto the bed.

“Is that a yes?”

“God, yes.”

Jemma let out an involuntary squeak of excitement, instantly letting go of him and getting a small noise of protest in response. She stood, looking around for a moment, then grabbed a pillow off the bed. She dropped it to the floor in front of his legs and knelt down. She placed her hands on his thighs, sliding them up and down slowly, until he propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her. 

“Tell me if I’m doing something wrong, all right?” she murmured, repeating his earlier request.

Fitz’s only reply was a nod, and Jemma leaned forward. She kissed the tip, then pulled back, licking her lips to test the taste. It wasn’t…so bad. She lowered her head again, wrapping her mouth around the head, sucking lightly, bobbing up and down. A groan from Fitz and the feel of his hand on the back of her head urged her on, and she moved faster and faster, going deeper each time. 

Jemma closed her eyes, thrilling at the fast breathing and little grunts she heard from Fitz despite her lack of skill with this particular act. She moved one hand up and over, trying to massage his balls despite the odd angle. She moved her other hand down to cup herself, still too tender to do much else but needing some kind of pressure or contact. Jemma experimented with her pace and depth, varying suction and attempting to do _something_ with her tongue every once in a while. She responded to Fitz’s cues, noticing when she received the most positive responses and repeating those actions. One particular combination of moves had him shouting, tugging at her hair and bucking his hips. Jemma’s heart skipped at that and she managed a weird sort of grin around his penis – and then she did it again. 

“Fuck, Jemma, _fuck_.” He moved frantically, trying to get her to release him and Jemma backed away, not quite ready for a mouthful of ejaculate. Instead she used her hand to stroke him to completion and watched in awe as he came all over himself.

“Now, you’re all dirty again,” she observed, aiming for teasing but her voice was far too throaty and deep. She had never sounded like that before. 

When there was no response, she looked up at Fitz. He was breathing heavily, hands over his face, with little moans and whimpers escaping periodically. 

“Fitz?”

He forced himself to look at her, and Jemma steadfastly refused to interpret the expression on his face. 

“That was – Jemma, I – come up here.” 

She did, wincing slightly from the pain in her knees despite the pillow. She crawled onto the bed and directly into Fitz’s arms, both of them shifting around until they were oriented properly on the bed. He held her close, and even though she couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, she placed her head over his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow. 

“Gimme a second,” he murmured, “and then I’ll – ”

Jemma snorted. “You’ll fall asleep,” she concluded.

“No, I – ”

“In the morning, Fitz.”

“Ceremony,” he mumbled.

“Before it,” she whispered. 

“Not enough time.” His statement was quiet, slurred, and followed immediately by deep breathing.

Jemma sighed. “There’d never be enough.”

**

There was even less time than they’d feared. The morning started out nice, with Jemma waking up still wrapped in Fitz’s arms. She felt blissfully sore, but not so much where she couldn’t do it again. She debated internally about what she wanted to do first, and wondered if she’d feel brave enough to be on top this time. She didn’t have long to think before Fitz was moving in his sleep, clearly waking up. He groaned pitifully at first, and then seemed to remember. His noises of complaint turned into happy little sighs as he pulled her closer. Without even opening his eyes, he lifted a hand to her face, brushing back her hair before he moved to kiss her.

Jemma moaned deeply, opening her mouth to let his tongue in. She inched closer to him, wanting to feel the planes of his body against her curves. His leg slipped between hers, and she started to rock her hips against his thigh, feeling increasingly aroused, especially as she felt his erection pressing into her belly. 

“Fitz,” she gasped. 

A loud knock on her door had them jumping apart in surprise.

“Simmons! Are you up?! Graduation starts in 20 minutes!”

Jemma bolted upright, turning to stare at her alarm clock in disbelief – the alarm clock she had forgotten to set before they passed out. She let out a tiny shriek and then climbed over Fitz, barely even noticing his yelp of pain when she accidentally kneed him in the stomach.

“Jemma, wait!”

“Fitz, we have to go!”

“We have to _talk_.”

“Later!”

She half-convinced herself as she raced to the shower, that she hadn’t just been taking advantage of the opportunity to run away as fast as she could. 

The graduation ceremony – more like an initiation, really, as it wasn’t open to family or friends, only active agents and thus future colleagues – passed in a bit of a daze. Jemma was hyper-aware of Fitz sitting two rows ahead of her and five seats to the left. She was even more aware that each passing moment brought them ever closer to his departure for the Sandbox and her own for the Hub. She doubted they’d have time for much more than a quick goodbye and then – who knows how long before they’d be able to see or even talk to each other again? 

Fitz found her after the ceremony, interrupting the conversation several other girls had pulled her into. They gave her disturbingly knowing looks as she and Fitz stepped away.

“Jemma, I – the lead agent from the Sandbox is here. He wants to see my work before we leave, so I can’t – I have to – ”

What he was trying to say eventually dawned on her. They wouldn’t even have time for a proper, private goodbye. Tears pooled in her eyes when it struck her that this was real, this was it. He protested at the sight of her distress, and pulled her into a hug. 

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I _love_ you.”

Jemma squeezed her eyes shut in pain. It wasn’t fair.

“Please don’t say that,” she choked out. “I can’t – I don’t – I – ”

Fitz let go, stepping back and staring at his feet. He nodded stiffly. “OK. I understand.”

She reached out for his hand, wanting to reassure him or at least have some last contact, but he pulled away. 

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

“Call me. When you land,” she begged.

He nodded again, turning and walking away quickly. Jemma sobbed once, cutting off the noise with her hand so he wouldn’t hear.

**

He sent her a brief text, as promised, and she sent one of her own. The next few weeks, their messages were few and far between and utterly short. Jemma attributed that to how busy they were, settling into their new jobs and getting started on their new projects. It didn’t help that most of them were classified. In the past, they always _at least_ had science to talk about.

Jemma thought about that last night far more often than she should, sometimes trying to recreate it with her fingers but never able to come close. Once or twice, she’d picked up the phone to call him when she felt particularly horny, wanting to hear his voice as she touched herself, wanting to hear how low and rough it got as he neared orgasm himself. But it would ring and ring and ring, and he’d never answer. 

He IM’d her on her birthday and Jemma growled in frustration – she wanted to blow off her plans and talk to him, but she didn’t want to alienate her new coworkers who had so nicely planned a dinner celebration. So she sent him a quick reply – _Fancy dinner plans. Talk later?_ – and rushed out the door. The next two messages she received from him (only two, in as many months) were simply professional requests for scientific literature. 

As Christmas approached, she grew increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing him in person, reconnecting. And then her parents called her to propose going skiing over the holidays instead. For two days, Jemma wrung her hands, wanting to beg them to cancel. Until Fitz texted her that he wasn’t going to be able to get away from work for that long and his mum was coming to see him instead. She moped in front of the skiing lodge’s fireplace for the majority of the trip. 

In March, she hesitantly went on a date with a field ops agent stationed at the Hub. He had asked nicely and she couldn’t figure out how to say no. Over appetizers, they talked about their respective academies, and he’d mentioned something about his best friends there. When she asked what they were doing, he simply shrugged. 

“Academy friendships never last.”

Jemma’s brows had furrowed. “Operations, maybe,” she replied. “Because you’re out in the field so much.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know any Comms or Sci-Tech people who still maintain their friendships either. Maybe a few of the ones assigned to the same bases, but even then – life, you know?”

Jemma thought about that conversation for weeks, long after the date that had ended up going nowhere. She thought about it every time he failed to respond to one of her messages, or every time he did, but with a terse response. 

The one-year mark – a whole year since they’d last seen each other, since they’d… – was approaching. Jemma decided to make one last-ditch effort. Something big to prove to him that, even if they apparently were never going to be more than that, she still wanted to be friends. She called him on the day itself, one hand hovering over the mouse to click the purchase button. Two tickets to the Seychelles. A chance for a much-needed break, a chance to reconnect. 

“Jemma?” 

She was speechless with surprise at first, having been half expecting that he wouldn’t answer. 

“Fitz?!”

“Yeah, is – what’s up?”

“I wanted to…how are you?”

There was a long pause. “Fine.”

Jemma struggled, forgetting what it was like to have a conversation with him when he clearly didn’t want to speak to her.

“It’s just – I wanted to catch up,” she started again.

“Jemma, I…can I call you back?”

“But Fitz – ”

“I have a date,” he said abruptly. 

She thought her heart had finished breaking over him.

“Oh,” she said meekly, blinking away her tears so she could see her computer well enough to close the travel site’s page. 

“So…I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She managed some sort of reply, and he hung up. Jemma cried for an hour.

He didn’t call the next day, but Jemma didn’t cry again. He didn’t call for two more weeks, in fact, and each day she grew angrier and angrier. He had promised she wouldn’t lose him; _he_ had said they were more than that. When he finally did call back, Jemma stared at his name on the phone screen for a long beat. She answered just long enough for him to know she had, and then she ended the call without a word. 

They never spoke again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Agent Fitz?”

Jemma furrowed her brow, before carefully placing her equipment on the bench and turning to face the newcomer. She was mostly confused by the greeting but that confusion was increasingly turning into a very nerve-wracking suspicion. 

She hadn’t heard that name in a very long time.

“No,” she finally replied, noting in an offhand way that the man standing at the entrance to the lab was rather attractive. “That’s not me.”

“Oh. Coulson said to see Fitz about getting my receiver encoded. Do you know where – ”

“That’s me.”

The agent turned around to face the newest arrival. Jemma, meanwhile, began screaming internally. She hoped on the outside she maintained a professional demeanor, but she was pretty sure she had gone very, very pale.

He was skinnier – leaner might be the more accurate term – than she remembered, and his clothes…

He nodded at her in greeting, almost seeming like he didn’t recognize her. She’d think that was the case if it weren’t for the two additional times he glanced at her in between plucking the device from the agent’s hand and carrying it over to a desk.

“Don’t know if you’ve worked with that model before. It’s – ” Fitz smashed it, and Jemma had to suppress a grin at the field agent’s reaction. “…brand new,” he concluded dejectedly. 

“He’ll repurpose the IDIS chip,” Jemma explained, immediately feeling self-conscious about speaking for Fitz. The feeling only increased when they both turned to stare at her. 

Jemma realized the best way to power through this was to act as normally as possible. She took several quick strides over to the man, lifting a swab to his mouth for a sample. “So are you excited to be coming on our journey into mystery, Agent…?”

“Ward.”

Jemma smiled, then turned around. She happened to catch Fitz staring at the two of them, and her smile faltered.

“And you are?”

“Simmons,” Fitz replied before Jemma herself could. She glanced at him, confused and a bit annoyed by his tone. He sounded…possessive? “She’s biochem.”

“And he’s engineering,” Jemma added, gritting her teeth a bit in a grimacing sort of smile. 

“Right.” Ward gave Fitz an appraising look and Jemma a friendly sort of nod, so she smiled more sincerely at him. 

Soon enough, though, he was gone. Which left Jemma alone with Fitz. It took her a moment to work up the courage, and then she looked at him again. He was standing awkwardly, arms moving jerkily as he tried to decide whether to cross them or rest his hands on his hips. He was turning red, and Jemma was thankful she wasn’t the only one feeling off-balance. 

“Hello, Fitz,” Jemma forced out, her voice only slightly shaky. 

He swallowed, nodded, and allowed his gaze to drop from hers. “Simmons.”

She shook her head, faked a laugh that sounded uncomfortable even to her own ears, and then stepped toward him. She regretted the hug almost immediately, first because he froze in her arms and then because he relaxed into them. When she felt one of his hands land softly on her back, right between her shoulder blades, she quickly backed away. Unable to look at him again, she turned away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t know you were – ”

“Me neither. I would’ve – ”

Jemma spun to face him again, too nervous to care about how her response might look. Fitz hesitated, looking down at his feet. 

“Would’ve…?” she asked leadingly. Hoping that the conclusion wasn’t that he’d have turned it down. 

Fitz shrugged. “Dunno, really.”

“Oh. Well…it’s good to see you!” She was pretty sure she sounded entirely too cheerful. “How long has it been?”

She knew exactly how long it had been. She probably could tell him down to the minute.

“Ah,” Fitz hedged, pulling one sleeve up to scratch at the inside of his elbow. “Ten years, I guess.”

Jemma exhaled. “Yeah, I guess.”

They stared at each other for one moment more, until the awkwardness grew unbearable. And then Jemma turned sharply away, returning to unpacking and organizing her materials. After a moment, she heard Fitz start to do the same. They worked in strained, unfamiliar silence, an experience that Jemma could only vaguely remember from their earliest days of being partners. Jemma sighed, louder than she meant to, then grabbed the ICER prototype and headed towards the secure weapons container.

“Is that…a night-night gun?” Fitz asked unexpectedly. 

Jemma turned. “A what now?”

“It is,” Fitz continued, walking over and taking the prototype from her hands. Jemma barely managed a sound of protest. “I’ve only – this never even went to production – some consultant said that – it’ll never work.”

“It certainly _will_ work,” Jemma replied, feeling vaguely offended. “They just needed to make the ICER large enough for a sufficient dose.”

“ _Night-night_ – wait. You’re the consultant?”

“You designed this?”

They stared at each other, then both laughed in disbelief. Fitz turned it over in his hands, examining the prototype. Then, he looked up at Jemma, intrigue growing.

“Do you have anything else?” 

Jemma hesitated, looking around to try to find something that seemed, now that she thought about it, to remind her of Fitz’s work. But that’s when she saw the open case over at Fitz’s table. 

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed out. “You have DWARFS?”

“Oh, sure,” Fitz grumbled half-heartedly. “Keep some names, get rid of others.”

Jemma ignored him, hurrying over to pick one up and investigate it. She didn’t notice him follow until he was right behind her, his body warm and solid despite the distance between them. 

“That one’s Doc,” he murmured. “He sniffs out…biochemical signatures.” Fitz trailed off as if he was just figuring it out. “…Biochem…You?”

“I…” She turned, holding the DWARF to her chest as she looked up at Fitz. He was closer than she’d realized. “Fitz, I – don’t understand.”

“Guess we worked together after all,” Fitz murmured. “They just didn’t want us to know.”

Some last, small piece of Jemma’s heart broke. She gave him a shaky and strained smile, handed him the DWARF, and then pushed past him. She left her items behind to unpack later, knowing she couldn’t maintain control for much longer. Instead, she climbed the stairs, trying not to rush.

**

Jemma sighed in relief, turning involuntarily to seek out Fitz. He raised his hand, giving her a nod and a thumbs-up, and Jemma smiled. Almost immediately, she felt self-conscious, and she didn’t want to explore that reaction too closely. So, instead, she slid her gaze over to Ward. He lowered the rifle, simultaneously making eye contact with Jemma. She forced an even wider smile. And then, against her control, she glanced back at Fitz.

His own relief was gone. He was looking down, and even from the distance, Jemma could see him clenching his jaw as he turned away from Ward. Jemma again stopped herself from trying to analyze the moment. She faced forward again, returning her attention to Mike Peterson.

**

Jemma felt very confused.

And, to be honest, slightly aroused.

And, against her better nature, jealous. 

Because at some point over the last several years, Fitz had learned how to flirt – with his voice, with his eyes, with his body. The way he was leaning against the door to the small bunk, the innuendo in his voice as he pointed out the entrance to his own – it was doing strangely exhilarating things to her. Her stomach felt all fluttery and her imagination was starting to run wild and – it was pointless.

Because it wasn’t directed at her. It was directed at _Skye_.

And really, there was no reason to be jealous. Whatever might have been between Fitz and her had fizzled out years ago. She honestly hadn’t thought about it or him in ages, certainly hadn’t fantasized about it. She herself had been with several other men, dated, moved on with her life. Apparently he had too. And Skye seemed perfectly nice. If Fitz liked her – well, if he liked her, then – then…

For goodness’ sake, she wasn’t going to be that kind of woman. She wouldn’t turn petty or pitiful. Not over _Leopold Fitz_ , of all people. 

Jemma spun on her foot, leaving Fitz to get Skye settled in and to do whatever else two consenting adults might care to. _Jemma_ had science calling her name.

She refused to look back at them, even if she did have the strangest feeling that she was being watched.

**

It was hard to believe that just a short time ago, she was joking around with Fitz and Skye, impersonating Ward and trying not to notice how Fitz’s attention was almost entirely directed at Skye. Even after the incident with Miles, he still was smit – anyway, the lighthearted moment was long past.

As clichéd as it sounded, Jemma could feel the glass walls of the lab closing in around her. She felt like the rats in the corner, just waiting to be tested on. Waiting to die.

Jemma closed her eyes, breathed out, struggled to calm her mind. And then there was a tap on the window behind her. She turned, nearly gasping aloud at the determinedly cheerful expression on Fitz’s face as he held up the device he was working on for the antiserum delivery mechanism. Jemma forced a smile, nodded in reply, then faced forward again. 

Later, when he passed it through to her, tensions between them had grown. They were bickering, almost like old times, except the poorly concealed fear in his voice was unmistakable. 

“You have to fix this,” he declared stubbornly.

Jemma felt the fight go out of her. “I don’t know how, Fitz,” she confessed. The expression on his face was unbearably vulnerable. She hadn’t seen him that open with her – that devastated – since their graduation day. She kept talking though, unwilling or unable to give up despite her admission that she was at a loss for what to do next.

And then they realized it at the same time. “The Chitauri.”

Jemma wanted to kiss him when he burst through the quarantine and made some typically faux-arrogant comment about making sure she kept her hands off him.

She wanted to kiss him when he deftly caught the vial, and his voice pitched low when he asked if he could be the one to test the antiserum.

She wanted to kiss him when he wouldn’t give up – instead she struck him with the fire extinguisher.

She wanted to kiss him when she was too far away to do so. She settled for turning to look at him one last time. Tears stung her eyes, both from the whipping wind and the sheer terror on his face as he screamed her name, calling her Jemma for the first time since they had both set foot on the Bus. 

She wanted to kiss him as he fussed with the pillow in his lap and defended himself for not being the one to jump out after her – as if Jemma would have wanted him putting himself at risk like that. She wanted to kiss him so badly. So she did. She called him a hero, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips chastely to his cheek, and escaping the bunk without looking back once. She didn’t know if she could stand whatever expression appeared on his face.

**

Jemma almost turned and walked away when she heard the voices coming from his bunk. It would have felt less intimidating if he had been alone as she’d hoped, but she could hear Skye laughing as Fitz said something about having to make tactical decisions. She squared her shoulders and continued on, determined to contribute to his preparations.

Things had been strange between them – somehow both more and less tense – since the Chitauri virus. She didn’t know how this gesture would be taken, if it would continue to reconcile them or if it would cause more discomfort. But she had to try. Because he was going in dark, in hostile territory, without comms, lacking any real physical strength and – 

Jemma cleared her throat, getting the attention of Fitz and Skye as she stood just inside the door to the bunk. Skye gave her a disturbingly knowing look and stood, stepping away from the bunk and manhandling Jemma to switch places with her before leaving them alone. 

“Hello, Fitz,” Jemma said, feeling extremely awkward.

He barely glanced at her, nodding stiffly as he returned to his packing. 

“I…wanted to give you an antivenin pack. The Caucasus have a plethora of highly endemic spider species.”

He paused for one noticeable moment, then nodded again, turning his head to shoot her a sharp, quick smile. “Thank you.”

Jemma pressed her lips together, wanting to say… _more_.

“Stop worrying about me; I can do this,” Fitz said, as if he could read her mind. A concerning thought. And then he smirked. “And don’t you do anything rash while I’m gone…like jump out of an airplane.”

Jemma laughed at the unexpected joke, feeling some of her tension disappear. It emboldened her just enough to reach into her bag one more time. “I almost forgot,” she lied. “I made you this.” She held out the wrapped sandwich. “Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella.”

Fitz stared at it for a long moment before reaching out for it. “With your homemade pesto aioli?”

“Just a hint,” Jemma confirmed breathlessly. 

At that, Fitz seemed to forget they were studiously avoiding eye contact. He looked up at her, and Jemma could almost swear that they were just two kids again, with no past between them, with none of the things left unsaid clawing at their throats. 

May’s voice on the intercom interrupted the moment. It was time for Ward and Fitz to leave. Jemma hurried away, not sure if she was avoiding Fitz or her own worries for his mission. 

Later, when it was all over, Skye dramatically raised her eyebrows at Jemma as she threw an arm around Fitz’s shoulders. He startled, turning to look at her, before glancing at Jemma again. His hands nervously moved on top of the case. Jemma felt increasingly uneasy herself, wondering what Skye was up to.

She seemed far too mischievous. 

“Sounds like you were quite the hero, Fitz.”

He shrugged uncomfortably, eyes flicking yet again to Jemma. Even though he had just been bragging about the op, he seemed to have lost his bravado. 

“Did Jemma tell you she shot a superior officer in the chest?”

Her blush was sudden and deep. She had no idea what to say, and Fitz’s gawping in surprise didn’t help. 

“Guess she really wanted you back,” Skye added slyly. 

Jemma wanted to glare, but didn’t want to make it too obvious. Besides, Fitz was still staring at her. So, instead, Jemma smiled shyly, barely noticing as Skye walked away.

**

“And were you two best friends or…”

Jemma looked around the crowded Boiler Room, hoping to deflect or otherwise avoid the question. She didn’t – couldn’t, as had been made painfully obvious on missions to date – lie, but she wasn’t really in the mood to tell Skye all the details of her past with Fitz.

She decided to go with the truth, at least about the relatively simple first part of their story. “We weren’t friends. We were bitter enemies. He hated me – _hated_ me.”

Skye bought it completely, even adding a soft _aww_ when Jemma, against her best judgment, admitted that no one there had ever been quite as interesting as Fitz. 

She found herself pointlessly wondering if he – or she, for that matter – would have ended up like Donnie or Seth if they hadn’t found each other. Both of them too smart for their own good, no one to hold them back… 

She wondered about all the things they could have accomplished if they hadn’t been kept apart all those years.

After Donnie had been carted off and while Coulson and May were assessing whether the Bus had sustained any damage in the storm, Jemma found herself wandering. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised where she ended up; she had walked the route from the Boiler Room to her dormitory so many times, it was practically muscle memory. Lowering onto the bench on the far side of the small lawn, Jemma exhaled slowly and looked up at the windows.

“Fourth from the left,” came an unexpected voice. Jemma jumped, then glanced over her shoulder. Inexplicably (or so she told herself), her heart started to beat faster. “Third floor up. Right?”

Jemma hesitated a moment. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s it.”

Fitz nodded questioningly at the bench and Jemma slid over to make room for him. When he sat, he ended up slightly closer than she expected, and she could feel the heat of his body radiate from his shoulder. His sleeve brushed against hers as he tilted back to stare up at the residence hall. Then, he suddenly snickered.

“Remember when Davies…”

He didn’t even have to finish the question before Jemma chuckled and nodded. 

“Some good memories,” he said, very quietly. She wasn’t sure if she had even heard him at first.

She really didn’t know what possessed her to respond, “Some fantastic ones.”

When there was no reply, Jemma risked a glance. Fitz held eye contact for just a moment, not long enough for her to get a real read on his thoughts before he faced forward again. He sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly.

“How could I have been so stupid?” he whispered.

Jemma’s heart began to race. She sought for something to say, something that would – 

“About – ” he cleared his throat quickly. “About Donnie.”

Right. Donnie. Of course.

“It’s not your fault,” Jemma soothed.

**

Jemma had felt slightly sick since Coulson had announced the mission and assigned their various roles. May and Ward, of course, would be playing action heroes; Coulson and Skye would create a distraction, then tag the target with the tracker she and Fitz had perfected in the lab.

Which meant she and Fitz were in charge of actually tracking said tracker. They’d have to get access to a fairly untraveled part of the train so they could do so. The plan was for them to perform some sleight of hand and get a key from the conductor. It was bad enough that Jemma would have to lie again.

But _Skye_ had suggested that Jemma and Fitz pretend to be a young couple asking for romantic restaurant suggestions so they could celebrate their anniversary. 

Fitz had paled at that, and Jemma had felt her own face flush with an intense blush. But neither of them had objected – possibly because they were speechless, possibly because they were hardly experts at field espionage. 

Could they be convincing?

That was one concern, of course. Another was that Jemma wouldn’t be able to conceal how strongly it affected her to pretend. Yet another was that she might not be pretending at all.

Jemma shook her head, reminding herself that, the occasional lingering _what if_ aside, she had gotten over Fitz years ago. She had even forgiven him. They were colleagues again, but nothing more. They were professionals, and they could do this – for the sake of the mission. It wouldn’t be a problem. 

“So are we English or Scottish?” Fitz asked, leaning forward across the space between them.

Jemma blinked quickly, returning to the present. “What do you mean?”

“We’re traveling together,” Fitz explained with a shrug. “We should probably be from the same country.”

Jemma’s brow furrowed. She didn’t think she could fake an accent on top of everything. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we can speak with our regular accents.” 

Fitz shrugged again. “Whatever. I just thought – ”

“I have it all worked out,” Jemma interrupted. 

It was Fitz’s turn to blink. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jemma began, pausing to tug at her hair slightly from nerves. “Past events, like that unfortunate incident at the Hub, have shown me that I’m not good at improvisation. However, I excel at preparation.”

Jemma trailed off, confused by the sudden soft smile Fitz gave her and the way it seemed like his eyes twinkled with affectionate humor. 

“Go on,” he murmured.

“I – well, that is, there’s this small cottage in Perthshire we drove by once when I was a girl, some family holiday, and I don’t know why but I found it so lovely. I still think about it – a place where – ” Jemma broke off, clearing her throat quickly. She hadn’t meant to say that much. “I thought we could use that for our backstory. Say my family and I _did_ stay there on our last holiday, and you and your mum lived next door and…”

“We met and – ” Fitz filled in when Jemma hesitated. “Um. Fell in love?”

“In love?” Jemma whispered. She hadn’t dared try to imagine how serious this fake relationship was, somehow feeling afraid that it would make it that much harder to end the charade after the mission was over. “In just a few weeks?”

The expression was back in Fitz’s eyes – tenderness mixed with teasing humor – and he smiled at her again, leaning ever so closer. 

“How long do you think it’d take someone to fall for you, Simmons?”

Jemma floundered for an answer even as she felt herself shifting forward in her chair to close the distance as well. She felt like she was going cross-eyed and – 

And the conductor entered the compartment. Jemma made a small squeaking noise, then jumped out of her seat.

“Excuse me! Do you speak English?”

The ruse had succeeded, somewhat, despite the near derailment that came when Fitz placed his arm low around her waist and nuzzled her ear, dropping a soft, quick kiss to her temple. Jemma recovered just enough to distract the conductor while Fitz slipped the key off its hook and now they were sneaking into the empty compartment to set up their equipment. 

“You got a little flustered back there,” Fitz observed.

Jemma scoffed, possibly a bit too loudly to sound entirely convincing. “What? When you kissed me on the head like my grandfather?”

“Not the dead one, I hope,” Fitz replied breezily, winking over his shoulder at her before setting up the laptop. “I have a device that could have done those things, broken the lock and all that.”

Jemma blinked, searching for a response. She should have known – she _did_ know; she knew everything that was in the lab. Why hadn’t she reminded Skye and the others of that when the plan for the mission was hatched? Why hadn’t Fitz? 

“Why wouldn’t you tell – ?”

“I’m always the gadget guy,” Fitz reminded her, reinforcing the statement by simultaneously tapping some commands into the computer. “Maybe sometimes I want to do things with my bare hands.”

Jemma was speechless, thrown back into a memory of all the things Fitz could do with his bare hands. She was pretty sure she’d be useless for the rest of the mission.

And unfortunately, she pretty much was, at least after she woke up from the dendrotoxin grenade ( _an airborne form, imagine the possibilities!_ ) and raced after Fitz and Skye with the rest of the team. She was useless when it counted, and Skye had nearly died. She was even useless standing in front of the supply drawer, unable to open a pack of gauze to clean her hands. 

The soft touch on her shoulder stopped her movement. Jemma hesitated before turning and allowing herself to be pulled into the embrace Fitz offered. She began to cry harder, and Fitz held her tighter. As she began to calm, she heard him whisper. 

“When that grenade went off… never do that to me again, Jemma.”

**

It seemed kind of silly, now, that she had stubbornly held onto her anger and resentment. Or perhaps more truthfully, her broken heart. These last few months, as she became more comfortable with Fitz and relearned how to work with him, had been so rewarding. And she could admit now that she had even begun to wonder what the future held for them. If they’d...find their way back to each other. If maybe he wanted that too.

But now, all she wanted was for them to literally find their way back to each other. So, hours later, when the dust was settling temporarily at least, when the door opened just enough for her to squeeze through, Jemma angled past Agent Hand and ran directly to Fitz. He met her embrace without hesitation, dropping his arms from his pose of surrender to wrap around her tightly. It took all of Jemma’s considerable strength not to sob.

**

“That’s a hard one. Let me think…the TARDIS.”

Koenig checked the output, then looked at Jemma again. “Last question. SHIELD no longer exists. The agency has been labeled a terrorist organization. So why are you here?”

“Honestly…I’m not entirely sure.”

It was the truth, and it wasn’t, and Jemma didn’t want to think about it too much. Just like she didn’t want to think too much about her complete lack of interest in Trip, despite his flirtation. But she hid behind that later, when she confronted Fitz. The alternative would be to acknowledge the way he was looking at her, had been looking at her throughout the mission. She wondered if he too saw the similarities between their own lost opportunity and Coulson’s with Audrey. She wondered if he really did hate change as much as he claimed, or if he too hoped at least one thing _would_ change.

**

“I know that it’s ridiculous,” Fitz said quickly, hardly even looking at her. Jemma’s surprise at his request was overwhelming. “But I just need to hear you say it,” he concluded.

Jemma shook her head, strangely amused and yet eager to offer him whatever comfort and reassurance she could. “I’m not Hydra,” she said firmly.

Fitz breathed out in relief, nodding. “Yeah, good. Good. Cause I’m not either.”

At that, Jemma couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Of course not.” 

He glanced away, swallowing thickly. “Because if…if you ever did – ”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what I would do,” Fitz blurted. He finally held eye contact again. 

Before she could stop herself, Jemma reached out, placing one hand on his knee, subconsciously registering the warmth beneath her hand. 

“You’ll never have to find out,” she promised. 

She squeezed lightly, and he twitched in response, perhaps involuntarily. Fitz stared down at where they were connected. Jemma practically held her breath. That pool in the moonlight, outside a small, nondescript motel, had somehow become the most romantic place on earth, and – 

And Jemma would never forgive Trip for interrupting over something as inconsequential as offering them a snack.

**

“Why? Why would you make me do this?” Jemma shouted, the fear and pain and anger mixing together in a confusing lump of emotion. She didn’t even hesitate when confessing, “You’re my best friend in the world!”

“Yeah, and you’re more than that, Jemma.”

She stared at Fitz in stunned silence, remembering back to another time he had told her something similar, and he looked away, exhaling sharply.

“I couldn’t find the courage to tell you. So please…let me show you.”

He looked at her then, tears in his eyes, an attempt at a brave smile on his face. Jemma blinked.

“No!” she declared. 

He moved to speak again, inhaling and stepping closer, and Jemma shook her head defiantly. 

“No,” she repeated. “You don’t get to do this _now_. You don’t get to rewrite our history to suit – ”

“Rewrite? What do you mean? I always – ”

“ _You_ were the one who stopped talking to me – ”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open in offense. “Well, you were the one who – I needed time to get over you. I didn’t know how to ask you for it.”

“I didn’t want you to get over me! I wanted – I wanted – ”

“You wanted to act like nothing had happened!”

“That’s not true!” Jemma argued, lifting her hands to wipe quickly at the tears streaming down her face. “But we were being separated and everything was happening so fast and I didn’t know how to – you promised I wouldn’t lose you. I won’t let you break that promise again.”

She didn’t allow him to even try to respond. Instead, she darted forward, threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into the kiss she’d wanted to give him since he first walked onto the Bus so many months ago. It only took a moment for his arms to tighten around her and for him to begin kissing her back. Despite or perhaps because of the panic and passion, she kept whimpering against his mouth, trying to protest his plan even as she relished the feel of him. 

“It’s okay,” he told her, the sound muffled.

Jemma shook her head, kissing him again.

“Jemma. Jemma. Jemma.”

“Fitz,” she responded, voice more a breathless sigh that turned into a whine as he pushed her away.

“We have to hurry. Take it. There’s no time.”

Jemma shook her head. “I won’t. We’re going to find a new way.” She grinned at him. “We’re going to fix this – together.”

**

She stumbled a bit as she walked down the hall of the base, following Agent Koenig – too tired to be surprised at the similarities between the siblings, too relieved to worry too much about the future, and too happy to mourn the destruction of almost everything in her life.

Almost.

She reached a hand out blindly, hooking her fingers around Fitz’s and maneuvering her hand until it was gripping his own tightly. He squeezed back, and Jemma felt a strange flip-flop in her stomach, some combination of adrenaline crashing and yet building up in anticipation at the same time. 

“This room should work for you, Agent Simmons,” Koenig said, stopping by a door and turning to face them. “And Agent Fitz, if you’ll follow – ”

“This will be fine,” Jemma interrupted. “We’ll share.”

She didn’t meet Fitz’s eyes, but she did smile when she felt his gaze turn to her. A small blush rose to her cheeks, but she stayed firm, looking at Koenig impassively until he simultaneously shrugged and nodded.

“Be sure to come find me as soon as you are rested. We’ll get you set up with lanyards.”

Koenig walked away, leaving Jemma free to reach out for the doorknob and tug Fitz into the room behind her.

“Jemma, are you – ”

She didn’t let him finish. Instead she turned to face him, pushing him back against the door even as he closed it behind himself. Their kiss was passionate, deep and intense and long overdue. Soon, they were tripping over each other on their way to the bed, clothes being dropped left and right. Fitz breathed heavily in her ear as he lavished attention on her neck and throat, and Jemma’s moan sounded too loud in the empty room. 

She could tell he was holding back, perhaps afraid of rushing too much. As far as Jemma was concerned, they had waited far too long. She turned them around, then pushed. Fitz fell back onto the bed with a bounce. He laughed in surprise, looking up at her as he propped himself on his elbows. His humor didn’t last long though, and he stared at her in wonder as she took one brief moment to push down her clothes before climbing into his lap. 

Fitz cursed under his breath, then sat upright and tilted his head up to kiss her, moving one hand to her arse and the other to fumble at his trousers. Jemma moved to assist him, and together they freed his cock. She stroked it a couple times before shifting and taking him inside her. She began to ride him, gripping his shoulders with both hands and pulling back slightly to look into the blown pupils of his eyes. Jemma clenched around him, smiling at the resulting hiss. And then Fitz closed his eyes, a sort of grimace on his face.

“Jemma,” he gasped. “Condom.”

Jemma chuckled. She hugged him closer, increasing the pressure on her clit as she rocked against him. “Don’t worry,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m much smarter about those kinds of things now.”

“You – ?”

“It’s covered. Now fuck me.”

He groaned – at the curse or the sensations they were producing together, she wasn’t sure – and lifted a hand to her head. He clutched at the back of her neck, fingers tangling in and pulling at her hair as he forced her to kiss him again, even more passionately than before. But it wasn’t enough. Jemma didn’t know if anything _could_ be enough after waiting so long. 

She pushed at his chest until he fell back onto the bed, and she followed quickly, not wanting to give up the kiss. Fumbling, she found his hands, pulled them up to rest near his head, and intertwined their fingers. Using the new leverage, she pushed on his palms, grinding her clit against him, rocking back and forth, breath forced from her with each thrust. Her climax came almost as a surprise, pulled from her suddenly when he took his hands out of hers and brought them down. Squeezing the cheeks of her arse, he held her still, pushed her down, and lifted his own hips to meet her. Jemma cried out, shuddering and collapsing on his chest, as she felt his release fill her. 

She moaned his name, moved her arms around into a weak attempt at a hug, and – she was pretty sure – drooled on him slightly. He didn’t seem to care about that or much of anything, if only judging by the way his hot, quick breaths puffed against her hair.

“I love you,” she informed him.

“Just remember I said it first,” was his eventual reply, followed by a laughing assurance of his own feelings when she pinched him.

After a long moment, Jemma finally lifted herself off him and rolled to the side. He followed, an arm and a leg wrapping around her body to hold her close. 

“Would it piss you off if I told you you’ve gotten loads better at that? Which barely seems possible considering how good you were the first time.”

Jemma snickered. “Likewise.”

They luxuriated together, holding each other and occasionally kissing or caressing. Eventually, Jemma sighed.

“I suppose we should see if the others are here.”

Fitz pouted and shook his head. “We can figure all the rest out later. Right now – ”

Jemma didn't need much convincing. “We figure out us.”


End file.
